[ for all that is dissimilar, much remains the same.
the turn of one festival into the next brings no surprise. to these people, the harvest is bountiful and the earth renews. to celebrate is to celebrate all that is left to the living, all that may soon come again. it is this trend of thankfulness, of gratitude, that lan wangji is familiar with. it is the occasional dances too, that lan wangji spots here and there. representatives, they had called themselves. and for all that those in his time would struggle in such professions, they seem delighted to participate within them here. lan wangji had known easily the heavy lay of long sleeves, the movements of the hands and the wrists and the body more purposeful and at times acrobatic. it had brought a wash of comfort to him, to see such movements performed even here. imperfect as it might be, as imperfect as it may have been, it served more to recall the roots than this:
before him now, dancers school like so many fish. at times, they sway together. at times, they break from the hands and the shoulders that brush against them, individuals touching upon each note in ways both careless and erratic. there is no rhythm, only feeling as the patterns are repeated and forgotten. again and again, the shameless tucking of arms low against another's body, the chase and leave they give—
it is not surprising, necessarily, to see another of their kind here. but, like lan wangji himself, he remains at the sidelines. he idles as lan wangji does, though for what purpose is unknown to him. he does not assume, even as he recognizes him. his pale eyes sweep down, the light in them moving from study to recognition, the very edges of his brows softening. when once he saw this one, this one was drunk. and yet, he had been polite and courteous. he had been mannered enough to worry after his perceived burdens. and so, lan wangji gives him a gentle nod.
it may be more the subtle incline of his head than anything else, but his voice carries despite the crowd the mills about them. low and even as it always seems to be, the stillness that he exudes is not touched even by the occasional shout or the occasional cry. it is not ruffled, even by imperfections that now dapple his own face. bruising, long since greened, brushed upward toward his right eye. it makes its color seem all the more golden, as he turns his head. ]
Will you join them? [ it is a polite question, perhaps. it seems lan wangji has no intention to do so himself, after all. ]
[This is much better than the club, if Abel is being honest. Not as loud, not as performative, more people dancing for the joy of it instead of just to be seen. And no one really looking at him. He's more or less anonymous here instead of standing out like a weed in a flowerbed, and Abel likes it that way.]
[But it does make it that much more obvious when he notices someone looking at him. Abel wasn't at his best when he met this man, but he still remembers. He helped him out of his jacket and wings at the carnival, he was very kind and calm throughout. And there's a bruise over his eye now, how did that happen?]
[Recognition flickers into worry, and Abel crosses the distance between them with clear concern and expedience. The question catches him off guard, mostly because it has nothing to do with what's at the front of Abel's mind.]
Oh, ah, maybe later... your eye... [His eyebrows come together and he gestures awkwardly.] What happened?
[ lan wangji had always been alert like this: able to track the attention of others, the attention of others upon those under his care. he had always brushed against the shape of intention, discerned its edges with the flicker of eyes and the curve of his fingers. to be aware of one's surroundings, to be aware of what was to come your way without assumption or rashness— that is what had been trained. that is what has remained, for as long as he remembered.
and yet, there is something in his interactions here. there is something in the overlap of time, of culture, of space. lan wangji, though he knew of what lay beyond the borders of his home, had never left it. contained in large to the mountains, that is where lan wangji had spent his life. it was only through chance and through some exploration— his night hunts and missions —, that he would encounter such deviations from the manner he would come to expect. and that abel asks, direct and without guile, hinges in him pause that reflects at the corners of his lips. they do not dip, but there is a twitch. it is a fleeting thing, as though at once made embarrassed by the question. and by who? himself, it would seem. his lashes droop, if a little, his gaze shifting a hair to the left. ]
My fault, [ he says. he would place it as such. he had the capability, the capacity to budge. he had intervened, but this is what he had desired. he took what consequence came with it. he adds, just as certainly as he had placed the latter half: ] It is old.
[ it does not hurt, is the understanding that rest beneath even that. even if it had, the idea that he would never admit to it is apparent. he is the sort to lift such worries from the shoulders of others, as much as he has pride. ]
[Both of those pieces of information don't have much traction with Abel. This man seemed so deliberate with his actions, it's hard to believe that this is an injury from an accident. And it being old doesn't comfort Abel any either-- he's more concerned about the root cause than the healing time.]
Are you sure it was your fault? [He asks it gently because it might not be his place to pry, but sometimes people just need a second chance to tell the truth.] You didn't seem clumsy the last time we met, and I wouldn't say you were the kind to start a fight either.
[ abel assesses, kind and without pushing. his concern is a noted thing, one that lan wangji does not attempt to mollify. he knows of others who have done similar to him, to lan wangji, their eyes speaking where their mouths did not. and yet, even manifested in a way that lan wangji cannot avoid, he will not insult the other. he will not be rude. instead, he clarifies. he clarifies, just enough, to save face and settle. ]
Yes, [ he says, serious as it is certain. lan wangji is careful with his words. they shape against his tongue, come without pause, but he is not one to fritter them away as others do. even still, the impression that they are difficult for him exists in the spaces between, in the way his brows crease almost indiscernibly. his gaze again centers on abel. ] I intervened, [ I understood my risk. and here, most assuredly, is the largest gap in understanding. for him, fighting is not unusual. he couches it within two words here. and while it too is true that he is not one to most commonly start them, he has indeed fought the majority of his life. ] This was my choice.
[ and there is an odd conviction in that. without its context, there is still an ineffable surety. his pale eyes flicker with it, almost as if to say that he would have done so again had the situation required it. he had chosen larger fights. ]
[This guy doesn't give a lot of details, does he? Doesn't speak too much either, but that's nothing new for Abel and it doesn't bother him. It just makes it a little harder for him to picture how this worked. This man is huge, first of all. But that's to his advantage, probably, it's easy for a bigger person to intervene in some kind of attack-- whatever this was.]
That's terrible! Regardless, you shouldn't have had to take a hit for someone, surely there's nothing that has to result in a fistfight.
Well. I hope they felt guilty when they hit someone they didn't mean to hit. Valuable lesson, I hope.
[ lan wangji has always been as this: reticent and taciturn, feelings and thoughts conveyed more in the hands and in the eyes. unable to ask for what he wants, he pushes as far as he is able through the shapes his actions take. and here, the detail is in the way he shakes his head. it is not a dismissive action, as much as it conveys an understanding that the one who did this is one who aches. there is no anger in it, no such distaste for them. even if it was decided he was not one who had matter or substance to them in the words they spared, the curl of their fist spoke otherwise. lan wangji meant something, no matter how ugly and distorted.
and yet, to see such ire on his behalf is an oddity to him. most would have let such a thing be. most would not have thought to question lan wangji, hanguang-jun. there are things within the realm of cultivation that are not spoken of to the face. but, lan wangji— lan wangji has always been honest. truthful. ]
I became the intended target, [ he says, the correction gentle. there is no harsh edge within his voice. what he keeps within himself is for himself to contend with. his hands clasp loosely before him, the gesture broader than the material of the clothing he wears calls for. he is still not accustomed, it would seem. ] I will not comment on how they should feel.
[ but, he will not say how abel should feel either. and so, he does not. instead, he he only offers what has been instilled in him by the gusulan sect's innumerable rules. it is one he most typically sticks to. ] Regardless of their actions, one should not speak behind another's back.
Well I can't exactly agree with that. [Though admittedly, Abel's life was only complicated by people talking about other people behind their backs. Still, sometimes it was just unavoidable: it's hard to talk about a black eye without discussing the other party involved.] But if you don't want to discuss it, I won't force you to. I just hope you realize the resolution didn't have to be what it was, no matter what the circumstances were. [There's always a better choice than hurting someone, no matter who the intended target was.]
[ many lives are. to that end, even lan wangji has spoken behind the backs of others before. when it would benefit them, when his own heart would not be kept behind its ribs— yes, lan wangji has made these errors too.
but, still, he thinks that abel navigates such things better than most. he thinks that perhaps his own time may have been kinder, had people considered such things. but, power is power and propriety is propriety. it does not matter to some, in the wake of all they feel, that their solutions and their desires wave outward. like a fan, should one segment be cut, so too will the rest fail to do more than fall.
he has seen such results before. ]
I do, [ he says, words sturdy and unbroken. they run smooth, like they do most often. and yet, with that, there is something gentler that rests at the corners of his eyes. it presents itself in the relaxed curve of his brow. you are considerate, it seems to say. but, lan wangji has never been good with words. ] I may only take responsibility for my part.
[ but, between him and wei wuxian, he would rather take such things with him than have him take such things alone. it is all he wants, to shoulder these with him no matter if he is right or wrong. ]
To watch, [ he says, after a moment's consideration. his pale eyes flit over the crowd as they swarm back together again. after a brush, many too part. ] For my countrymen and I, dancing together like this is not done.
[ his attention settles on abel again, inquisitive without shaping the question with teeth and tongue.
[At first glance, this man's face reminds him a little of Encke's-- stern, focused, reined in. It's the eyes that tell Abel that he isn't unwelcome in the conversation, or that this man just wishes Abel would go away and stop talking. He just has a very... stiff way of speaking.]
I think that's a good plan. You ah, can't take on everything all the time. [Says the man who's only wish on the Sleipnir was to 'protect everyone'...]
Oh ah. [Abel looks awkwardly at the crowd, suddenly self-conscious.] I get very nervous dancing by myself. I start to notice people looking at me, I wonder if they're talking about me with their friends-- you know, in a not nice way. But I think if I watch enough, maybe I'll have enough confidence.
[ lan wangji has no familiarity among faces here. there are none who look as though his brother, as though his son. there are none who look quite like his uncle, stern and upright and to the letter ruled. there are none who remind him of what little he still holds of his mother, what little more he holds of his father. it is only that aspects come, here and there. in the downward sweep of eyes, in the wrinkle of noses, in the twist and curvature of lips— yes, that is all lan wangji may find. shades of comparison, but none can replace them.
he listens to what abel tells him, attentive. the impression is there that he is always aware, it is just a matter of whether or not he is listening. but, he listening to abel. and he is listening to the crowd, as they rile and cheer. ]
For this, [ he says— clarifies. he won't force his feelings, in any capacity, upon anyone else. he's too polite. his mouth dips a touch at the corner, a frown more for thought than anything else. one could say it's a stubbornness. he is of the same belief, in a way. his name wangji means above earthly concerns. but, he is a man and a man who is tethered by love. ] None can.
[ no one can take on everything, but he'll try to help as many as he can with causes both good and just. that is what he is known for. and, so too, is he known for shouldering willingly the responsibility in part for incidents within his past that were not his. ]
Mn, [ he hums, after a moment. it is not for uncertainty or even for pause. it is only consideration for the dance the crowd takes on now and the understanding of this statement in his own way. face is important for him and his countrymen. to be embarrassed publicly would make many never wish to turn outward toward society again. ] Would you with another?
[ once you have watched, is the implication. he isn't offering, but it is a curiosity. he suspects that many would in this group of theirs, should they have accompaniment. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
you kids and your newfangled dance moves
the turn of one festival into the next brings no surprise. to these people, the harvest is bountiful and the earth renews. to celebrate is to celebrate all that is left to the living, all that may soon come again. it is this trend of thankfulness, of gratitude, that lan wangji is familiar with. it is the occasional dances too, that lan wangji spots here and there. representatives, they had called themselves. and for all that those in his time would struggle in such professions, they seem delighted to participate within them here. lan wangji had known easily the heavy lay of long sleeves, the movements of the hands and the wrists and the body more purposeful and at times acrobatic. it had brought a wash of comfort to him, to see such movements performed even here. imperfect as it might be, as imperfect as it may have been, it served more to recall the roots than this:
before him now, dancers school like so many fish. at times, they sway together. at times, they break from the hands and the shoulders that brush against them, individuals touching upon each note in ways both careless and erratic. there is no rhythm, only feeling as the patterns are repeated and forgotten. again and again, the shameless tucking of arms low against another's body, the chase and leave they give—
it is not surprising, necessarily, to see another of their kind here. but, like lan wangji himself, he remains at the sidelines. he idles as lan wangji does, though for what purpose is unknown to him. he does not assume, even as he recognizes him. his pale eyes sweep down, the light in them moving from study to recognition, the very edges of his brows softening. when once he saw this one, this one was drunk. and yet, he had been polite and courteous. he had been mannered enough to worry after his perceived burdens. and so, lan wangji gives him a gentle nod.
it may be more the subtle incline of his head than anything else, but his voice carries despite the crowd the mills about them. low and even as it always seems to be, the stillness that he exudes is not touched even by the occasional shout or the occasional cry. it is not ruffled, even by imperfections that now dapple his own face. bruising, long since greened, brushed upward toward his right eye. it makes its color seem all the more golden, as he turns his head. ]
Will you join them? [ it is a polite question, perhaps. it seems lan wangji has no intention to do so himself, after all. ]
no subject
[But it does make it that much more obvious when he notices someone looking at him. Abel wasn't at his best when he met this man, but he still remembers. He helped him out of his jacket and wings at the carnival, he was very kind and calm throughout. And there's a bruise over his eye now, how did that happen?]
[Recognition flickers into worry, and Abel crosses the distance between them with clear concern and expedience. The question catches him off guard, mostly because it has nothing to do with what's at the front of Abel's mind.]
Oh, ah, maybe later... your eye... [His eyebrows come together and he gestures awkwardly.] What happened?
no subject
and yet, there is something in his interactions here. there is something in the overlap of time, of culture, of space. lan wangji, though he knew of what lay beyond the borders of his home, had never left it. contained in large to the mountains, that is where lan wangji had spent his life. it was only through chance and through some exploration— his night hunts and missions —, that he would encounter such deviations from the manner he would come to expect. and that abel asks, direct and without guile, hinges in him pause that reflects at the corners of his lips. they do not dip, but there is a twitch. it is a fleeting thing, as though at once made embarrassed by the question. and by who? himself, it would seem. his lashes droop, if a little, his gaze shifting a hair to the left. ]
My fault, [ he says. he would place it as such. he had the capability, the capacity to budge. he had intervened, but this is what he had desired. he took what consequence came with it. he adds, just as certainly as he had placed the latter half: ] It is old.
[ it does not hurt, is the understanding that rest beneath even that. even if it had, the idea that he would never admit to it is apparent. he is the sort to lift such worries from the shoulders of others, as much as he has pride. ]
no subject
Are you sure it was your fault? [He asks it gently because it might not be his place to pry, but sometimes people just need a second chance to tell the truth.] You didn't seem clumsy the last time we met, and I wouldn't say you were the kind to start a fight either.
no subject
Yes, [ he says, serious as it is certain. lan wangji is careful with his words. they shape against his tongue, come without pause, but he is not one to fritter them away as others do. even still, the impression that they are difficult for him exists in the spaces between, in the way his brows crease almost indiscernibly. his gaze again centers on abel. ] I intervened, [ I understood my risk. and here, most assuredly, is the largest gap in understanding. for him, fighting is not unusual. he couches it within two words here. and while it too is true that he is not one to most commonly start them, he has indeed fought the majority of his life. ] This was my choice.
[ and there is an odd conviction in that. without its context, there is still an ineffable surety. his pale eyes flicker with it, almost as if to say that he would have done so again had the situation required it. he had chosen larger fights. ]
no subject
That's terrible! Regardless, you shouldn't have had to take a hit for someone, surely there's nothing that has to result in a fistfight.
Well. I hope they felt guilty when they hit someone they didn't mean to hit. Valuable lesson, I hope.
no subject
and yet, to see such ire on his behalf is an oddity to him. most would have let such a thing be. most would not have thought to question lan wangji, hanguang-jun. there are things within the realm of cultivation that are not spoken of to the face. but, lan wangji— lan wangji has always been honest. truthful. ]
I became the intended target, [ he says, the correction gentle. there is no harsh edge within his voice. what he keeps within himself is for himself to contend with. his hands clasp loosely before him, the gesture broader than the material of the clothing he wears calls for. he is still not accustomed, it would seem. ] I will not comment on how they should feel.
[ but, he will not say how abel should feel either. and so, he does not. instead, he he only offers what has been instilled in him by the gusulan sect's innumerable rules. it is one he most typically sticks to. ] Regardless of their actions, one should not speak behind another's back.
[ jiang cheng deserves that. ]
no subject
Did you come here to dance? Or just watch?
no subject
but, still, he thinks that abel navigates such things better than most. he thinks that perhaps his own time may have been kinder, had people considered such things. but, power is power and propriety is propriety. it does not matter to some, in the wake of all they feel, that their solutions and their desires wave outward. like a fan, should one segment be cut, so too will the rest fail to do more than fall.
he has seen such results before. ]
I do, [ he says, words sturdy and unbroken. they run smooth, like they do most often. and yet, with that, there is something gentler that rests at the corners of his eyes. it presents itself in the relaxed curve of his brow. you are considerate, it seems to say. but, lan wangji has never been good with words. ] I may only take responsibility for my part.
[ but, between him and wei wuxian, he would rather take such things with him than have him take such things alone. it is all he wants, to shoulder these with him no matter if he is right or wrong. ]
To watch, [ he says, after a moment's consideration. his pale eyes flit over the crowd as they swarm back together again. after a brush, many too part. ] For my countrymen and I, dancing together like this is not done.
[ his attention settles on abel again, inquisitive without shaping the question with teeth and tongue.
have you decided? ]
no subject
I think that's a good plan. You ah, can't take on everything all the time. [Says the man who's only wish on the Sleipnir was to 'protect everyone'...]
Oh ah. [Abel looks awkwardly at the crowd, suddenly self-conscious.] I get very nervous dancing by myself. I start to notice people looking at me, I wonder if they're talking about me with their friends-- you know, in a not nice way. But I think if I watch enough, maybe I'll have enough confidence.
[This is a lie.]
no subject
he listens to what abel tells him, attentive. the impression is there that he is always aware, it is just a matter of whether or not he is listening. but, he listening to abel. and he is listening to the crowd, as they rile and cheer. ]
For this, [ he says— clarifies. he won't force his feelings, in any capacity, upon anyone else. he's too polite. his mouth dips a touch at the corner, a frown more for thought than anything else. one could say it's a stubbornness. he is of the same belief, in a way. his name wangji means above earthly concerns. but, he is a man and a man who is tethered by love. ] None can.
[ no one can take on everything, but he'll try to help as many as he can with causes both good and just. that is what he is known for. and, so too, is he known for shouldering willingly the responsibility in part for incidents within his past that were not his. ]
Mn, [ he hums, after a moment. it is not for uncertainty or even for pause. it is only consideration for the dance the crowd takes on now and the understanding of this statement in his own way. face is important for him and his countrymen. to be embarrassed publicly would make many never wish to turn outward toward society again. ] Would you with another?
[ once you have watched, is the implication. he isn't offering, but it is a curiosity. he suspects that many would in this group of theirs, should they have accompaniment. ]